


Forget

by samskeyti



Category: Flammen & Citronen | Flame & Citron (2008)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:33:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samskeyti/pseuds/samskeyti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he pushes her back onto the bed the first time, it’s in an anonymous hotel, in a room for business and restless sleep, a room without a trace of anything memorable. Brown desk, brown drapes, a coat stand, a dull mirror. A room you could deny and believe yourself denying, it slid so easily from the conscience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget

**Author's Note:**

> A scene of the film done over. Started for an old Porn Battle prompt (Flame/Ketty, remember) and finished for hurt/comfort bingo (secret identity discovered). For values of comfort that don't run to fixing.

When he pushes her back onto the bed the first time, it’s in an anonymous hotel, in a room for business and restless sleep, a room without a trace of anything memorable. Brown desk, brown drapes, a coat stand, a dull mirror. A room you could deny and believe yourself denying, it slid so easily from the conscience.

He pushes her back, pins a hand above her head then changes his mind, letting her wrist go as sharply as he’d twisted it, sitting back on his heels to drag his shirt over his head, the collar pulling his hair down over his face, masking him in a tousle of flame-orange. He huffs and shakes his head to clear the strands from his eyes.

He bends and kisses her, his eyes not quite closed, his shoulders stiff and he’s a little too tense, too deliberate, but she kisses him back with the abandon she wants to find in him, taking him over with her tongue, twisting a hand in the hair at the back of his head. If she could keep him near enough, deep enough, here enough, she could feel the recklessness she — not suspects, now, she knows — he has. _Stop watching_ , she thinks at him. She wouldn’t say it. They kiss and eventually he shivers, runs his hands over her body and now he’s not half-glancing over his shoulder, not kissing like the door and the ugly square window are an audience. Not that he isn’t still as careful, as meticulous as — well, one didn’t joke about nationality any more. Each place he touches is separate, his thumbs, fingertips, palms, all of him still observing as if each patch of skin, every half-moon of sensation is being checked for meaning, noted and memorised. She suspects he could reassemble her in his thoughts in the time it takes to piece and load a gun.

He kisses her neck, light and even, meandering along her collar bone, dipping between her breasts and she gasps and slides her legs further apart, lets him fall against her and his teeth nip at her skin, not hard. She won’t get roughness, she won’t get violence from him, he’s too good, she knows. She pulls his hair, hard and he sucks at her skin, presses his fingertips above her hips and moans.

He kicks his trousers loose and lifts himself up again, fast now, beyond any plan as he kisses her (he had it choreographed, taking a woman to bed, of course he did) sighing into her mouth before he pulls away. His face is blurred above her as she wraps her legs around his hips and drags him close. His cock pushes against her. He’s all low sound and mouth at this distance, lingering, aimless, desperate.

She flips them over, rolling him onto the pillows and he’s still then, she might say passive, with his eyelids fluttering closed. Then his face is wary again, watching her like she’s a cat, or he is. Both of them. It doesn’t matter, and it does.

She straddles him, takes him in and his eyes slip shut, she can see him fighting it, his pale, heavy lashes lifting until she moves and he thrusts, follows her, half smiling and half flinching, not looking now. He says, “I…” like it means _I can’t_ or _I want_ or _I never_ and she says, “I know,” as if he might still be listening. They’re tense at first then quicker, then, soon, ragged and disordered and half about dying, like everything else now, when out of every couple, every person you looked in the eye, there was a good chance that half of that pair would be dying soon. Everything was fifty-fifty — terrible odds, perhaps, or good enough in the circumstances.

They’re fucking, no other word for it now, though he’s clinging to control and silence and she wishes, gasps, moves on him with a rhythm that’s hardly her any more but something that’s come on them both out of nowhere. Fucking like she wants him to break and of course he doesn’t. He reaches blindly, skimming her nipple, her neck, a thumb dragged across the hollow of her throat, then his hand splays over her mouth, his fingers wet. When she bites his palms, sucks at the flat of his fingers he makes a noise, choking, barely audible, but still a giving way. She watches until the very last, his eyes crushed tight, his teeth bare in almost a snarl, his breath held and it all stops, everything held until she can’t see, she hears one of them cry out and then he loosens.

When he opens his eyes he’s bright, his cheeks, his chest flushed, his hair the kind of red that reminds her of leaves and feathers and the edge of winter. Twenty-two, only twenty-two. And the soft look in his eyes when she shifts on him makes the clasp of his hand on her hip too sudden, too much after all.

She shakes her head, slight enough that she may not mean anything and says, “Forget me.” She draws a finger along his jaw, his neck and his lips quiver once and he laughs, quick and bitter then swallowed away.

He’s back, a dip of his chin, a ghost of a frown, a shrug, not a boy at all now, brisk and contained with his voice low and cold again. He says, looking her in the eye for an instant and then not, “I remember everything that’s ever happened. You know that.”

She doesn’t deny it. She keeps his chin in the cup of her hand as she waits for his eyes to turn back to her.


End file.
